Fifteen Blinks #1—Diction

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Diction

In the Introduction to Fifteen Blinks, I mentioned that people blink less frequently when they are interested. The difference between engaging writing and dull writing is diction—voice—how the words sound in your head and out loud.

Let’s get all multimedia up here and use video to illustrate. Compare the following two videos. Take a mental note of the types of words each speaker is using.

From Ferris Bueller’s Day Off:

and from Dead Poets Society:

The first video is filled with academic, Latinate language, with a pop or two of some Anglo-Saxon. (Read more about the difference between Latinate and Anglo-Saxon diction here.)

alleviate, tariff, revenue, federal government, sank, depression, revenue, voodoo

The second video has some clichés, Latinate language, Anglo-Saxon language, slang, and even onomatopoeia.

Seize the day, DING, food for worms, breathing, cold, die, peruse, haircuts, hormones, invincible, world is their oyster, full of hope, one iota, gonna, fertilizing daffodils, legacy, extraordinary

Which diction is more interesting?

Clichés

“Avoid clichés like the plague.” Clichés are like shorthand for writers. Sometimes it makes sense to use them, because the reader will except the metaphor as an idiom. A cliché is better than “new” imagery that makes the reader question your better judgment or sanity.* My husband’s family has a motto: “Work smarter, not harder.” Sometimes using a cliché is being smart; other times it’s lazy writing. If one of your characters is a bit dull, then let him speak in a cliché once or twice. Outside of dialogue, use sparingly.

*Read about the Bad Sex writing award over at The Guardian for a laugh and cautionary tale (NSFW)

Overdoing Diction

Perhaps you’ve heard of the phrase “purple language” or “flowery language” before. When every other word was looked up in the thesaurus, it’s obvious that you are trying to impress the reader, and we are pretty sure that you are just overcompensating. See my references to Christopher Paolini’s debut here.

Diction is often overdone in sentimental fiction. It’s also overdone in classrooms. I was hoping for some good examples of bad imagery when I saw a Google result titled “How Not to Suck at Writing—Imagery.” Instead, I got some bad examples of “good” imagery. The examples of “good” imagery in that post come across as a Mad-Libs gone terribly, terribly wrong. If you take a writing class and the teacher praises this kind of writing, ask for your money back and buy a copy of Stephen King’s On Writing. Money better spent.

But read King with a grain of salt if you do happen to pick up On Writing. He says things like this:

“Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule.”

…Apparently a drunk and high Mr. King is of a more sober mind than I, bearer and rearer of children, because I forget words all the time, and thesauruses are a great aid in digging up vocabulary which is half-buried in toddler talk and animal noises. Unless my husband is around. Then I forgo the thesaurus, speaking utter nonsense to him until I remember the word I was trying to think of. It’s usually accompanied by grandiose hand gestures:

“What’s that word for when… You know how… When you feel like… I think it starts with a P…”

Forgetting about Diction

If you don’t pay a whole lot of attention to diction, if you don’t worry about being fancy, your writing will probably come across as conversational, sort of like this blog. Your writing isn’t going to be very exciting—it’s going to be invisible. Everybody can write conversationally of they write the way they speak.

That’s why overdoing it is usually the problem with new (and some seasoned) writers. They want to stand out. Problem is, people notice them standing out for all the wrong reasons and they praise them for it. I see many writers try to get away with purple language by submitting their work as “literary,” when their work isn’t literary at all—it just hasn’t been edited for diction.

Getting diction right

The great news is that getting diction right is incredibly simple. You ready for it?

Read out loud.

Controversial, right? Imagine actually reading your written text out loud! Why, someone might hear you! You might hear yourself!

If you start shaking uncontrollably at the thought of reading aloud, even to an audience of one, then you can download a text-reader that will read your text out for you. And it’s a computer, so you don’t even have to share your work with another human being. Because, you know, that would be terrible, getting someone else’s opinion.

Eh, sorry for the snark. Some people really love text-to-speech and use it. I’m the cheapest person alive, so I choose the free version—my own vocal chords. If someone here uses text-to-speech software, please share your recommendations!

Read my guest post on Better Novel Project: 7 TIPS FOR WRITING REALISTIC DIALOGUE

Diction Exercises

When writing something short—a poem, flash fiction, or memoir vignette—every word needs to count. Diction is so important, I’m giving you a pretty lengthy exercise this time, so you can see good diction for yourself. Optional writing prompt at the end.

Instructions:

  1. Dig out, look up, or take a short story/poem/speech that you absolutely love and think is well written. Hit for between 300 and 800 words, or 3-5 minutes speaking time.
  2. You’ll read it or listen to it at least three times, listing nouns, adjectives, verbs, and phrases from the text.
  3. The first time, make a note of words or phrases that are fresh or poignant.
  4. The second time, make note of diction that is overdone (too flowery) or obnoxious (this includes clichés). It’s okay to move things from the first list into this list.
  5. The third time, take a note of the remaining nouns, adjectives, and verbs, dividing them by their parts of speech.
  6. Take a look at that third list (from step #5). Which words fall into that category because they are “boring”? Which ones are there because they are subtle, rather than overdone?
  7. Now look at the second list (from step #4). Take the list of overdone or flowery language and rewrite them to make them simpler (or more Anglo-Saxon).
  8. Then rewrite the clichés to make them more original. Don’t have a list of clichés? Then you picked your text wisely! Go find 5–10 clichés and rewrite them.
  9. As for that first list? You have two choices. Admire it from afar and never think of it again, or choose one word or phrase as a writing prompt and write a Fifteen-Blinker on it.

The next time you come across something particularly horrible, repeat this exercise (1-9) with that unfortunate work, and rewrite it to make it better.

Remember, you don’t become a better writer by criticizing other writers. You become a better writer by reading and rewriting, rewriting, rewriting, rewriting.

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Author Chats: Stephen King

Motivation

So I read this lengthy interview of Stephen King, and I can’t decide if it made me like him more, or like him less. I suppose it just made him more real to me, since all I’ve read of his is his nonfiction about writing (which is stupendous).

I think it’s a worthwhile read, but it is hard to sum up, since the interview spanned a few years. Here are some topics to think about and reflect upon after reading the interview.

Getting Ideas

King often takes experiences and observations, then asks  “What if ____” over and over again, until a story sprouts. He refuses to focus on the next idea while his current work is in progress:

“I mean, I’ve always got a couple of ideas for future stories whenever I’m working on something. But you can’t think about what you’re going to do next. You’re like a married guy who’s trying not to look at women in the street.”

Movie Adaptations

King positively hates Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of The Shining.

Where to Write

“It’s nice to have a desk, a comfortable chair so you’re not shifting around all the time, and enough light. Wherever you write is supposed to be a little bit of a refuge, a place where you can get away from the world. The more closed in you are, the more you’re forced back on your own imagination. I mean, if I were near a window, I’d be OK for a while, but then I’d be checking out the girls on the street and who’s getting in and out of the cars and, you know, just the little street-side stories that are going on all the time: what’s this one up to, what’s that one selling?”

Writing Every Possible Day

PARIS REVIEW—Did you write this morning?

KING—I did. I wrote four pages. That’s what it’s come to. I used to write two thousand words a day and sometimes even more. But now it’s just a paltry thousand words a day.

Using a Computer versus Longhand

PARIS REVIEW—You use a computer?

KING—Yes, but I’ve occasionally gone back to longhand—with Dreamcatcher and with Bag of Bones—because I wanted to see what would happen. It changed some things. Most of all, it made me slow down because it takes a long time. Every time I started to write something, some guy up here, some lazybones is saying, Aw, do we have to do that? I’ve still got a little bit of that scholar’s bump on my finger from doing all that longhand. But it made the rewriting process a lot more felicitous. It seemed to me that my first draft was more polished, just because it wasn’t possible to go so fast. You can only drive your hand along at a certain speed. It felt like the difference between, say, rolling along in a powered scooter and actually hiking the countryside.

Finishing the First Draft

PARIS REVIEW—What do you do once you finish a first draft?

KING—It’s good to give the thing at least six weeks to sit and breathe. […] When you return to a novel after that amount of time, it seems almost as if a different person wrote it. You’re not quite as wedded to it. You find all sorts of horrible errors, but you also find passages that make you say, [that’s] good!

Your Editor’s Suggestions

“I don’t think it’s me, I don’t think it’s a best-seller thing, I think it’s a writer thing, and it goes across the board—it never changes—but my first thought was, She can’t tell me that. She doesn’t know. She’s not a writer. She doesn’t understand my genius! And then I say, Well, try it. And I say that especially loud.”

Popular Fiction and Literary Fiction

“The keepers of the idea of serious literature have a short list of authors who are going to be allowed inside, and too often that list is drawn from people who know people, who go to certain schools, who come up through certain channels of literature. And that’s a very bad idea—it’s constraining for the growth of literature.”

Naming

King has been criticized for his use of brand names in literature. Excedrin, for example. Pepsi. I haven’t read King’s fiction, but I have read fiction that does this poorly. I think it’s good to be specific.

“Do you see generic shampoo, generic aspirin? When you go to the store and you get a six-pack, does it just say beer? When you go down and you open your garage door, what’s parked in there? A car? Just a car?”

At the same time, overuse of brand names can feel like a commercial. Be specific, but don’t let it come across as product placement. Your peer editors and beta readers can point this out to you if you think it’s going to be an issue.

If you’re curious to read commercial fiction that reads like the author’s been flipping through the home shopping network, try Heat Wave, the novel commissioned by ABC and written by a ghost writer posing as the fictional crime writer Richard Castle.

So that’s all for Stephen King for now. I hope you caught the little bit about e-readers thrown in there (the interview came from 2001-2006). It amused me, anyway.

If you have a Facebook account, be sure to become a fan of my page, where I post more frequently. It’s much easier to repost something interesting than to actually blog about it. That said, I do have some queued up blogs for the next few weeks, so hopefully we’ll start getting back on track with content over here on WordPress. And then I’ll have my baby and probably disappear again for a few weeks.

Author Chats: Julian Barnes

Motivation

I took Ethan Rutherford’s advice and started reading interviews and posts on The Paris Review. One of the interviews I came across was conducted in 2000 and featured author Julian Barnes. Barnes has won the Man Booker Prize once, been shortlisted for the same award several times, and has been awarded the David Cohen Prize for Literature. In the 1980s, he wrote crime fiction under the name Dan Kavanagh. One great thing about The Paris Review is that they show images of the authors’ marked-up manuscripts. Below is an image (lovingly taken from the website) of his 2000 novel Love, etc.

You can read the interview in its entirety on The Paris Review here or by clicking on the manuscript page above.

I wanted to highlight one particular passage from the interview in which Barnes talks about the writing process

BARNES—I think you should like the process [of writing]. I would imagine that a great pianist would enjoy practicing because, after you’ve technically mastered the instrument, practicing is about testing interpretation and nuance and everything else. Of course, the satisfaction, the pleasure of writing varies; the pleasure of the first draft is quite different from that of revision.

Paris Review—The first draft is fraught with difficulty. It’s like giving birth, very painful, but after that taking care of and playing with the baby is full of joy.

BARNES—Ah! But sometimes it isn’t a baby, it’s something hideous and malformed; it doesn’t look like a baby at all. I tend to write quickly when I’m on the first draft, and then just revise and revise.

PRSo you rewrite a lot?

BARNES—All the time. That’s when the real work begins. The pleasure of the first draft lies in deceiving yourself that it is quite close to the real thing. The pleasure of the subsequent drafts lies partly in realizing that you haven’t been gulled by the first draft. Also in realizing that quite substantial things can be changed, changed even quite late in the day, that the book can always be improved. Even after it’s published, for that matter. This is partly why I’m against word processors, because they tend to make things look finished sooner than they are. I believe in a certain amount of physical labor; novel-writing should feel like a version—however distant—of traditional work.

PR—So you write by hand?

BARNES—I wrote Love, etc. by hand. But normally I type on an IBM 196c, then hand correct again and again until it’s virtually illegible, then clean type it, then hand correct again and again. And so on.

PR—When do you let go? What makes you feel it is ready?

BARNES—When I find that the changes I’m making are dis-improving my text as much as improving it. Then I know it’s time to wave good-bye.

PR—What do you use your computer for, then?

BARNES—I use it for e-mail and shopping.

—”Julian Barnes, The Art of Fiction No. 165.” The Paris Review No. 157 (Winter 2000)

I much appreciate what Barnes says about the process of writing—that it should be enjoyable, because you are practicing and improving with every word. I like that he makes it very clear that the first draft is not the final product, but that you can still derive pleasure from the first draft. (I’m working on that skill.) And I like that he actually keeps on improving his drafts until he isn’t improving them anymore—it’s always difficult to know when to step back and say something is finished.

What did you think of the interview? To read more wisdom from successful writers (e.g. not me), click here for a list of Author Chats.

Reading & Writing: Dr. Seuss

Fiction

Writing The Cat in the Hat

The Cat in the Hat contains 1,626 words (source). Reportedly, Theodor Geisel thought he could write it in a couple weeks. It ended up taking him “a year and a half” (source).

Just something to think about.

reading

How to Read Dr. Seuss

You know, I’m really not a Dr. Seuss fan. It really isn’t his fault, except for the creepy way he illustrates feet. Mostly I blame the people that read his work aloud, because 99% of them read his rhymes in that ploddy, sing-song voice that is worse than the sound of two pieces of Styrofoam grating against each other. Take this page, for example:

(From Anita Silvey’s Children’s Book-A-Day Almanac)

Some people read it like they are learning to drive a stick for the first time:

Putmedown said the FISH

Thisisnofunat ALL

Putmedown said the FISH

Idonotwishto FALL

And then there’s those who read like first-year poetry students, trying to guess the meter:

Putme DOWN saidthe FISH

Thisis NO funat ALL

Putme DOWN saidthe FISH

Ido NOT wantto FALL

Just a note to readers of verse: inflect the words like a normal person. Just because something is written in meter doesn’t mean you should read it like you are sitting on a galloping horse. Ignore the rhyming words and line breaks and read it like a narrator during the narration, and an actor during dialogue.

“Put me dooooown!”

said the fish.

“This is no fun at all. Put. Me. Down!”

said the fish.

“I do NOT wish to FALL!”

Actors and actresses interpret dialogue differently, so each reader should read aloud differently. If you find yourself reading like the first two examples, break the habit, give yourself some credit as a reader, and have some fun with the reading!